


so give me your filth, make it rough

by endofadream



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I watch porn,” Lee says, “and I think of you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	so give me your filth, make it rough

_“You watch porn, don’t you?”_

It’s said glibly over the phone with an ocean of distance separating them, exhaustion leeching deep into Richard’s bones and Proctor still clawing at the back of his mind like a caged animal, forever the shadow that Richard sees out of the corner of his eye but is never there when he turns his head. Lee’s deep voice makes the simple question darker, more suggestive, and the semi-relaxed state that Richard had been in since Lee’s name had flashed on the screen dissipates with a jolt. “And here I was thinking that you called to ask how the show went tonight.”

_“Spectacular as always, I bet. You’re incapable of a subpar performance.”_

Richard flushes, and it isn't difficult to picture the genuine smile on Lee’s face: he’s never shied away from being vocal in his pride for Richard and has been adamant in his concern for Richard during this run. Every time Richard insists that he’s fine, though he still hasn't told Lee about getting sick nearly every night purely from the stress of pushing himself and the toll this role takes on his body. If he did, Lee would be here in an instant, willing to stay until Richard is done.

_“So,”_ Lee adds conversationally, like he hasn't just asked his boyfriend if he watches porn, _“do you?”_

Sitting up in bed, the pillows plush against his back, Richard swallows, chooses his words carefully and says, “I suppose it’d be a bit far-fetched for a man of my age and long-standing nature of being single to say no.”

A chuckle, scratchy from lack of sleep–Richard insists that Lee doesn’t need to stay up just to call him after performances a few nights a week, but Lee insists and Richard would be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to it, to shedding the heavy, suffocating persona with the help of a gentle voice and well-chosen words. This, though…they don’t do this very often, and Richard knows where this is going, can already feel the warm curl of arousal in his belly and in the skip and pound of his heart. He shifts on the sheets, sliding down the bed until the pillows are propping up just his head, glad he’d been too exhausted to bother changing into pajamas after arriving at his flat, and becomes acutely aware of the cool rush of air on his bare skin.

_“I think I would’ve had to call you a liar,”_ Lee teases, and Richard can’t help the smile that creeps up on his face.

“Why do you want to know?”

Lee makes a contemplative noise, staticky and too far away, and Richard lets his hand trail down his chest, calculating the rise and fall of his ribs as he waits for Lee’s answer and comforts himself in Lee’s steady breathing down the line. _“Reasons. Most of them having to do with how much I fucking miss you right now.”_

A sharp inhale, and Richard blinks away the sting of tears, gripping his phone a little tighter. “Yeah, you too,” he says, strangled and quiet, because he does, he fucking _does_ more than he’s missed anything. Sleeping is difficult now, just Richard and his thoughts and an empty flat with an empty bed and the very real absence of Lee’s weight and heat at his back. He realizes, now, just how much he’d taken everything for granted before beginning his run at the Old Vic.

_“I miss fucking you,”_ Lee adds, and there it is. Richard bites back a whine and closes his eyes, adjusting his grip on his phone before pressing it closer, like it will somehow make Lee more tangible instead of just a voice. He’s missed it, too, has thought of nothing but Lee: his fingers; his hands; his voice and cock and the way that he looks looming over Richard. _“I watch porn,”_ Lee says, _“and I think of you.”_

Richard has no response other than a moan, low and ripped from his throat. It may very well be the most intimate confession that either one of them has had since they started this, and he can't stop his mind from conjuring up images of Lee doing just that. “What do you think of?” he gasps, his cock swelling already against his thigh.

_“How much I’ve missed your mouth,”_ Lee says, and it’s rough with desire and free of any more false pretense. On the other end there is rustling, and Richard can feel the quickening tempo of his heartbeat as he pictures Lee shedding his clothes, phone held to his ear and cock already hard and thick and gorgeous between his legs. _“And your hands. And the feel of your hair between my fingers.”_

Richard runs a palm across his shorn head, bemoaning the lack of any grabbable hair, because he wants to touch himself and pretend that it’s Lee doing it, that it’s Lee eliciting gooseflesh with talented, nimble fingers and making Richard moan and beg.

“I miss the way that you feel in me,” Richard says, “and around me.” He cups the bulge of his cock through his underwear, cants his hips up with a hiss when it twitches towards his palm, hot and heavy and throbbing, and he groans, “Every time I touch myself I think of you.”

_“Are you touching yourself now?”_

“Yes.” Richard doesn't miss a beat, edges the waistband of his underwear down until his cock is free, hard and glistening at the tip already where it slaps against his belly, and wraps a hand around himself, kicking his underwear off and nudging it to the floor, settling back down naked and flushed. Already he feels close to shattering, can feel the cracks and fissures forming and spreading out, and he whines, wets his lips and tips his head back as he imagines Lee’s sure, firm grip on him instead, and it’s maddening as Richard shamelessly fucks up, cock sliding hot through his fist. “Please tell me you are, Lee.”

The rustling on the other end of the phone tells Richard enough, and he’s smiling as he strokes himself, as Lee finally gets out a gravel-rough _“God, yes,”_ and Richard moans right along with him, the sound loud in the empty stillness of the room. It heats Richard’s face, makes something dark and naughty curl up in his chest. The sound of his hand over his cock grows slick quickly, lewd the faster he goes, and he has to swallow before he can say, “What would you do? If I were there with you right now. Tell me, love.”

_“Suck you off.”_ Richard squeezes his eyes shut and arches, pushing the phone close and angling it so that he doesn't miss a single word; he reaches over, letting his cock fall back to his belly, and roughly pulls the nightstand drawer open, pawing through its minimal contents until his fingers enclose around a bottle of lube. The cap opens with a click as Lee speaks around a gasp, and Richard wonders how Lee’s touching himself, if he’s working with the twisting, steady pulls he uses on Richard, or if he’s teasing, light fingertips dancing over his cock, just enough to please but never enough to get him there. _“God, Rich…you have no idea how beautiful you look like that. I miss the feel of your cock in my mouth. I miss the way you taste. I miss the way that you grab my hair and fuck my face and moan my name.”_

“Lee,” Richard moans, because he’s powerless to it, and he receives a chuckle, a muted _“There it is.”_ Lube drips onto the sheets as Richard slicks his fingers but he finds himself not caring, not when Lee’s panting, deep breaths are in his ear and he can hear the faint rustling and distant slap of skin. Lee must be spread out by now, if he’s on the bed, long limbs angled and gorgeous, sheets mussed around him and sweat just beginning to shine on his skin. “God, I fucking wish you were here now. Want to fuck you so bad, Lee, you have no idea.”

_“Yeah?”_ Richard hikes his legs up, reaching a hand down between, over the heat of his cock and the weight of his balls, between his cheeks to his hole, and there he presses a finger, gasping at the sharp spike of pleasure, then groaning as he begins to slide it in. _“Thought you’d want me to fuck you, judging by the sounds you’re making. How many fingers do you have in yourself, naughty boy?”_

“One.” Richard doesn't bother lying, doesn't bother trying to cover it up—this is what they’re doing, after all, isn't it? Richard has never done this before, has never _missed_ anybody like this, like his heart is physically aching, like there’s a part of him that feels absent even though when he looks in the mirror he sees himself, same as ever. There has never been incentive to _want_ to. But that was all before Lee, and Lee, as Richard has noticed over the last few spectacular years, has a way of rearranging Richard’s life without any effort.

Lee hums on the other end. _“How’s it feel?”_

“Like it’s not enough.” And it isn’t: Richard has two fingers in himself now, arching up against the burn and setting his jaw for a brief moment at the first stretch, but after that it fades fast to an ache, a yearning to be fuller. “I have two, now, but I need more.”

_“Then add another,”_ Lee adds, sweet and soft. _“Add another and pretend it’s me preparing you for my cock.”_ A gasp, and Lee’s breathing deepens, a low groan rumbling from his chest to vibrate in Richard’s ear, and it makes Richard shiver, has him spreading his legs wider, heels digging into the sheets as he twists his wrist and spreads his fingers. _“Fuck yourself with them, baby. Stretch your tight little asshole so that I can slide in nice and easy, filling you up with my big cock. That’s what you want, right, Richard? Me fucking you until you scream?”_

A jolt zigzags hot and singeing through Richard's body, and he jerks, letting out a cry. “Oh, fuck," he groans, and he’s sliding his fingers out and slicking himself up again, jaw falling open as he teases the rim of his hole before sliding in, and the burn of the stretch coupled with the feeling of being full has Richard nearing becoming unhinged, the seams of his self-control dangling dangerously loose. Sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder he reaches down, gives himself a few rough strokes, closing his eyes and pretending that Lee is kneeling above him, that it’s his hand making the squelching noises as he fingers Richard open, that the low stream of filthy words and breathless gasps in his ear aren’t thousands of miles away but right above him, wrapped in Lee’s sweet, spicy-woodsy scent. “Oh god, Lee.”

Lee’s chuckle makes Richard shiver against the mattress. _“Tell me how it feels now.”_

Richard twists his fingers, spreading and searching for that little bump. “So full,” he says, but “I miss your cock.” What a sight he must make, spread naked over his bed with three fingers buried in himself, undignified and reduced to the very last shreds of human restraint: this is among other reasons why phone sex has never been one of Richard’s strong suits, because with most of his past partners embarrassment always won out in the end. Somehow, with Lee, the embarrassment is canceled out almost immediately with hot rushes of arousal at the throaty moans on the other line, Lee’s little breathless gasps and _yeah_ s that reach Richard’s ears. They’re all things he hears whenever they're in bed, noises Lee makes _because_ of Richard.

_“If I were there right now,”_ Lee is saying as Richard slides his fingers out to stroke his cock again, cupping and gently squeezing his balls, _“I’d kiss up your thighs. Lick over your hipbone. Anywhere but your cock until you were begging me to touch you. And then I’d play with your nipples, because you’re so sensitive there, sweetheart, and it’s so hot. And by that point you’d be a writhing mess, all because of me.”_

Richard slips his fingers back in, pinches a nipple with his free hand and biting back a gasp. Pleasure sparks down his spine, adds to the fire in his belly, and he’s close, can feel orgasm edging up on him the faster he works his fingers in and out. Wrapping a hand around his cock Richard nearly shouts, legs widening, wanting to accommodate the filthy voice in his ear. “Close,” he gasps, tipping his head back as he falls prey to this fantasy; it's almost too easy to imagine that Lee is here, pressing Richard down onto the mattress and working him, teasing him. “Get me there, Lee, god, fuck me, _fuck me_.”

_“I’m right there,”_ Lee murmurs. He’s breathless as well, and his voice is pinched like it can get when he’s close. He groans out an _oh god_ as Richard brushes his prostate, and the overwhelming rush of pleasure mixed with Lee’s deep, wrecked voice tips Richard over the edge; he’s coming with a moan, hips jerking as he arches up into his fist, then down against his fingers, in a poor imitation of rhythm as he streaks white over his belly and chest. Distant, over the rush in his ears, Richard can hear Lee’s moan, a garbled mess of Richard’s name, as he comes.

When the haze clears and the buzzing in his ears dies down Richard feels, for the first time since he landed in London, like he isn't weighted down, shoulders slumped and heavy and mind filled with too much, from lines to worries to nerves to the responsibility of playing this wronged man. Now he feels light, happy, boneless against the bed as Lee’s breathing slows and evens in his ear.

“I miss you,” he murmurs, curling a hand around his phone again. He turns his head, looks at the box of tissues, and shrugs, decides that it can wait for now. “When are you coming back?” he asks, selfishly, because Richard is, because with this one he can be. Lee is the light and the dark, the good and the bad, the smile that Richard looks forward to seeing every night and misses when he can’t.

_“Soon,”_ Lee answers. _“I should have some free time in a week or so.”_

Just the possibility, no matter how abstract or uncertain, makes Richard’s heart flutter, and he smiles a tired smile. Because Lee is a man of his word, and even if it’s two days from now or two weeks, he’ll be here, tangible and real and _here_.

“I love you,” Richard says. Sleep is finally creeping up on him, pulling him slowly under with warm hands.

The response is immediate. _“I love you, too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr is [here!](http://endofadream.tumblr.com) Reviews are cherished and very helpful and future assessments of my work <3


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